


Beyond a Four-Poster Bed

by S_Faith



Series: On a Four-Poster Bed [2]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-07
Updated: 2009-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: A continuation of "Reflections on a Four-Poster Bed", i.e. Bridget's 'missing' diary pages after she and Mark end up together at the end of the first book.Book universe.





	Beyond a Four-Poster Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Best. Boxing Day. Ever. :D
> 
> Disclaimer: Idle speculation. That's all.

**_Tuesday, 26 December_ **

_No. of cigarettes: still 0 (hurrah!). No. of shags: four. No, six…? Am not sure. Percentage of hair that is not mad: 0._

_7:00 am, Hintlesham Hall suite, loo._

Oh my God. _Oh my God._ Cannot go back out there. In light of day have realised hair has become fright wig, face looks like has been roughed up with sanding paper, smudges of mascara around eyes make self look like tragic, desperate junkie or similar. In planning on staying at parents' house for holiday did not exactly pack overnight bag to accommodate spending night with man—least of all Mark Darcy.

GAH!

_7:05 am._

Was Mark knocking on door.

"Bridget? Everything all right?"

"Yes," I lied. "Just fine."

"You've been in there a while."

"I'm… going to take a shower."

"Oh." There was a beat of silence before he continued, his voice resuming that low, throaty tone it had taken last night. "May I join you?"

GAHHH!!!

_10:30 am._

Took moment to wash face and smooth down hair to make self look somewhat presentable. Cracked open door. He stood there looking very sexy, sheet wrapped around waist, smiling down at me with crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Was struck yet again by how tall he is, especially when towering over self with dark, smoky eyes, making knees wobbly despite thoughts of dismal appearance.

"Good morning."

Felt smile plaster itself across my mouth. "Good morning."

He raised his hand to cup my face, tracing thumb tenderly on skin. Not possible that he could be turned on by sight of scary morning-self. "About that shower?"

"Yes, er, right."

Opened door to let him in. Hotel robe was obviously designed for someone even shorter than self, only going to mid-thigh. Have skirts longer than this robe. Mark seemed very much to like it though, evidenced in coming close to self, reaching for robe's sash, then took self in arms, drawing fingertips over arse.

"It seems only right," Mark murmured, "since we've tried everything else out in this suite together…" Thoughts went back to great fun we'd had playing with amenities in fancy room before embarking on overnight shagathon. As he brushed his lips against my cheek, pulled me close to him, felt head go very swimmy.

Not sure how effective shower actually was, as spent very little time with soap or shampoo being applied to self, or to him, for that matter. Thought even now of palms sliding over wet skin, tiles cool on back… mmmm. The whole endeavour ended with two of us in bed again, getting selves quite worked up once more, undoing any of sort-of-shower's good work. Worth it though. _Mmm_.

Have just pried self from bed again to jot thoughts down. Heard Mark stir behind me, cursing softly under breath. "Sorry," I said, thinking he was going to playfully chastise me for leaving bed without permission as had the night before.

"No, not you," he said. "Checkout was at ten."

_5:00 pm. My flat._

Managed to wrench selves from luxurious four-poster bed to leave palatial estate-type hotel, making nearly two hour drive back to London. Decided lunch was in order upon arrival, but everything seemed to be closed, it being Boxing Day. Opted for Chinese from takeaway restaurant near to flat, v. small place but food is always good. Mark insisted on paying, which was v. sweet.

Initially wasn't sure about next step, if was too much to continue on with what was turning into marathon date, if was too much to _want_ to continue on. Obviously would have been nice to spend time with him outside of bedroom, because despite fact of having had all manner of delightful things done to self in past day, we haven't actually spent much time together: Ruby Wedding party, my dinner party, drives to Grafton Underwood during Mum / Julio / Portugal palaver… and that's about it before heading out of Grafton Underwood on Christmas Day.

As could not eat in, took it back to flat. Apologised for flat looking like war zone. He laughed. Despite unsure feelings listed above, was glad in long run that we had lunch together. Mark initially looked doubtful about food—giant piles of vegetables, meat (chicken, pork, or possibly both) and fried noodles—but ended up enjoying it v. much. Noticed extreme dexterity and delicateness with chopsticks, which reminded self of same in other arenas. Was v. much fun talking to him on all manner of subjects. Surprisingly wry sense of humour paired with sharp intellect—or perhaps should say _un_ surprisingly. 

"Well," he said as he dropped disposable bamboo chopsticks into empty container. "Suppose I should… um. Go."

"If you have to." I cleared my throat. "You can stay longer if you want." As had planned on spending whole of day doing nothing at parents' anyway, was not as if had pressing engagement to attend to.

Saw smile flit across his face. "I'd like that very much."

Set carton onto table, looked to me with that intense way he has, felt as if grappling hooks had taken hold of self just under solar plexus. Leaned forward, met him halfway for kiss; was then on me like man falling into pool of crystal water after day in hot desert sun. Hands everywhere, land speed record for getting them up and under shirt, kissing me such that felt slightly woozy in v. pleasant way.

As mentioned yesterday, have noticed this about Mark Darcy: he is all eagerness and enthusiasm, but always is in v. respectful, almost reverent way, never grabby even when seems can't hold back. Still have to wonder though how became so adept at flipping open bra clasp. Would not have guessed him to be the sort.

Remember gasping name in futile effort to suggest we move to bed. Insistent tugging on waist of trousers then pants, followed by dipping of fingers between legs, was all the answer was going to get. 

Of course ended up shagging once more, right there on the sofa, and it was marvellous. He has v.g. way of making self forget exactly where am, or when, and sometimes even _who_. Have to wonder about his skill at this too. Would have thought him too much the gentleman.

"Sorry," he said upon conclusion, between heavy breaths close to my ear.

"Wha?"

"I'm not usually this… well. Libidinous."

Laughed through laboured gulps of air. "Must have gone to Cambridge, you and your big words," I said, then kind of let my mouth run and added, "At Bangor we just said 'horny'."

He laughed, and God, was such an honest, genuine laugh, made self start to laugh too. Loved that he could so easily laugh with me, and not at me.

Pulled me close to him again, held me very tightly, whispering, "You're wonderful."

Did not know what to say to that, so just kissed him again.

One thing led to another and in short order was back in bedroom, properly undressed and on soft, squishy if tousled bed. Proud of self for being hygienic modern woman with stash of condoms, though to be honest did not seem at first as if would need one for next round; trail of kisses from knee, up thigh, and similar, until reached point where was v.v. grateful that we had not had a spicy curry for lunch.

Inexplicably, he stopped. Raised head, saw him rearing back on knees, gaze penetratingly sexy. Saw that he was most definitely aching for relief. Felt lips curl into wanton, devilish smile.

"Condom?" he asked.

Asked back, "What would you need that for?"

"Bridget," he said, rather desperately.

Said nothing further, just pushed self upright, and asked, "Clean?"

He stared at me as if had just ordered a firing squad to, well, fire.

Flitted gaze down to his rather, shall we say, _pressing engagement_ , then back up to meet his eyes. "Are you?"

The meaning seemed to trickle through. "Yes, yes," he said, voice a ghost of its former self.

"Thought as much."

Without further ado leaned forward, scrambled knees under self, then dropped head to return the earlier favour with strength and diligence. He gasped, then groaned a little; could feel him twitching hips up into me, then fell back onto bed. 

Not sure if was divine inspiration or simple thought vibe transference that caused self to do so, but had sudden idea to kill two birds with one stone. Climbed up and over (hardly breaking stride) to straddle him; felt hands run over arse then leg, kisses on inner thigh…

Pretty sure scandalised Mr Human Rights Barrister with this bold endeavour, due to our having only been sleeping together for less than twenty-four hours, though growls and moans vibrating into self (in most pleasing fashion, I might add) indicated that scandalised or not, he was v. much enjoying himself. Vowed to go distance, which seemed to drive him wild; and even as he came, he never relented in quest to match my tenacity, which, in the end, paid off in spades.

Ended up curling up to each other, lazily dozing, light kisses and tender caresses in counterpoint to mad, animalistic frenzy that had just concluded. Mark made sound v. close to a 'wow', which pleased self immensely, sending me into silly giggle fit again.

Now he is sleeping off exhaustion—generally seems to be true, what they say about men staying awake after the fact—and so have snuck away to detail wonderful shag-filled holiday. Have feeling though that in day or so will review this, be horrified by self's own sluttishness, and will rip series of pages out and set ablaze in fireplace lest be found by mother or similar.

V. sort of satisfying to recount (relive?) day as series of shag flashbacks, though. Has been far, far too long.

GAH!

**_Wednesday, 27 December_ **

_2:00 am. My flat. My bed, still._

Was Mark, up behind me, raking blunted nails up along back before picked self up bodily, dragged self back to bed, swearing all the way in v. husky voice about being incapable of learning lesson. Did stop for supper to refuel—pizza this time—and short dozes between romps; so lovely to just lie all nestled warm and cosy in between heat of passion.

Now Mark is out cold—no great shock considering—and we both must be awake in far too short a time to jarring return to working world. Will take great satisfaction, however, in offering v. smug smile when asked how Christmas holiday was.

Quite possibly best one ever.

Hm, seems is not too soon to practise v. smug smile.

_The end._


End file.
